


i'll be able to be honest

by dropsofandromeda



Category: Project Blue Book (TV)
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Missing Scene, Protectiveness, Sleeping Together
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-17
Updated: 2019-03-17
Packaged: 2019-11-19 12:25:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,845
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18135716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dropsofandromeda/pseuds/dropsofandromeda
Summary: “I don’t feel safe,” Allen said, after a moment, and Michael’s heart just about stopped. “I want to be with you. I feel safe with you. I-”“Doc,” Michael stopped him. “Do you...want to sleep with me?”“Could I?”





	i'll be able to be honest

**Author's Note:**

> So, the argument in episode 6 annoyed me and I wrote this. I'm slightly embarrassed by how long this took me, and reading through it I'm not entirely certain it deserves to be posted but ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ I spent multiple weeks writing this on-and-off and I wasn't going to let it go to waste.
> 
> This is my first fanfic, so it's probably a mess, sorry. I'm a sucker for protective Michael and I also just wanted them to cuddle.
> 
> The title comes from the Lana song "Change," which for some reason really inspired me here.

_"So those bastards are running missions on our soil now?” Captain Quinn asked._

_“In one way or another, yes.” Valentine answered. “But the American people can never know that.”_

_“More importantly, we can’t let the Russians know that we know.” Harding paused. “Which brings us to the Professor’s camera project, the project that we rejected—the project that Fairchild is running behind our backs.”_

_Michael nodded. “What do you need me to do?”_

 

He walked out of that room wishing he had never enlisted in the Air Force. “He’s going to hate this,” he mumbled to himself, walking down the corridor. _I hate this, I hate this, I hate this._ His mind was spinning. He didn’t know what to focus on. Allen? The professor just made him more confused. And Michael didn’t want to admit to himself that he was worried sick.

Something was different about the Doc; and it had been getting steadily worse since The Fuller Incident. That whole event was something even the captain didn’t like to think about. A military man had seen enough death and suffering to be able to compartmentalize it in the back of his mind, but he couldn’t imagine how it must feel to someone who’d never seen that kind of death before, to a man whose chief excitements usually involved math (and almost getting the program shut down).

So instead of being anxious, he was angry. Allen wanted the truth? So did he. And he didn’t fully believe that the fireballs were of Russian origin. But the professor had jeopardized their position by running to Fairchild.

He couldn’t be worried. So he was angry.

He could practically see the Doc as he strode towards the place he knew he’d be—the desk where he’d set up all of his science-y equipment in a cozy corner of White Forest. Michael understood none of it, but usually didn’t have time to ask questions anyway; when the Doc got a hunch he seemed to chatter on, ignoring practically everything around him.

It had caused a few problems in the past, Allen blurting out his ideas without thinking. Sometimes it was around angry townspeople who refused to believe that those lights in the sky “aren’t aliens.” The Captain’s protectiveness over the professor was obvious then, even if he tried to be subtle about it. It resulted in broken baseball bats, bloody noses, and black eyes. Other times, Allen contradicted Harding to his face, and Michael had to diffuse the situation before both of them got sacked.

If his partner had been anyone else, Michael figured he wouldn’t put up with it. But the professor, clad in his goofy ties and brimming with enthusiasm, had flipped a switch in him. He found himself thinking thoughts he hadn’t in a long time; thoughts of affection and admiration…

He hated to admit it, but—Allen was kind of _cute._ Adorable, even. “Stop it,” he muttered to himself, shaking his head to clear it of those kinds of thoughts. _I’m angry._ He walked on autopilot to the makeshift workspace.

 

There he was, sitting at the desk, bent over the typewriter and typing furiously into it, as if he didn’t get the words down now they’d be gone forever. His mind worked like that, though, a constant stream of thoughts. It was so different from the way Michael worked. But it was sort of a breath of fresh air. Michael was used to stuffy generals and rigid military men, who rarely showed an ounce of emotion.

“We need to talk,” he started. _I’m angry. I need to remember how angry I am._

No response. Allen kept typing at the keys. “Or, I can talk, and you can listen,” he finished, unsuccessfully trying to lighten the mood as he perched himself on the corner of Allen’s desk. He knew that the professor wouldn’t want to hear what he was about to say. “They’re shutting us down. Case closed, time to go home.”

Allen looked at him then. “No,” he said simply, holding his hands up as if to say “sorry.”

Michael turned his head away from the professor, trying to conceal the emotion behind his eyes.

“Y’know, when I was working interrogation, the best way to break a man—break him so his mind plays tricks—don’t let him sleep.”

“Well, my mind has never been sharper,” the professor said, a twinge of anger breaking through his words.

“I can see that,” Michael replied sarcastically. Allen’s stubbornness was making this conversation more difficult, though he expected it from the outset. It was something else that would usually make the captain smile a bit, but not this time. _I’m angry._

“I don’t believe the fireballs were meteors.”

“Your fancy cameras tell you that?”

“I haven’t developed the film, but I am confident that they will confirm my thesis, yes!”

“Ah, well, as long as you’re confident.” He stood up. The captain was sick of arguing. The argument _should’ve_ been over as soon as it started. In fact, he didn’t even need to argue, and General Harding would’ve laughed at him for even entertaining Dr. Hynek. He should just rigidly inform his partner that their work was done and that they were leaving. If he’d done this from the very beginning, they’d have a professional relationship, and Michael could be happy with that. _No I wouldn’t. No I wouldn’t._

The professor angrily ripped the paper from his typewriter and crumpled it in his fist. “I know what I saw.” It came out raw. Almost hurt. But it was dripping with the irritability and desperation that he’d seen in Allen lately, and it was enough to tip him over the edge.

Michael waited a beat before replying.

“Well here’s what I see: A witness who hasn’t slept in weeks, whose mind is bouncing around his head like a pinball in a pinball machine. He’s angry all the time, and when he’s not angry, he’s confused.” _Damn it. I can’t let myself get this way._ They were partners, sure, but he was ordered to close the case. Not give into emotion. “Now this witness, this man, has a story to tell. But not a shred of proof to back up his claim, other than his say-so.”

Allen looked as if he didn’t want to listen. “Then I’ll develop the film,” he answered. His voice sounded small. Voice shaking, he looked up at the captain. “I’ll prove it to you.”

“That’s a negative. We are done here,” Michael said, face closing in on the professor’s. “Finished like it never happened. What the hell did you expect?” He _was_ angry, but more than anything he just wanted the Doc to stop for a second, to calm down.

“I expected to discover the truth,” Allen replied. This was what Michael had anticipated, but he couldn’t prepare for what Allen said next: “I _expected_ a _partner_ who would back me up.” _Ouch._

“You went to Fairchild when the Generals weren’t looking. You got caught. I warned you about that. And what we’re facing now is just the consequences of your own actions.”

“I wanted the truth.” He looked Michael square in the eyes now, tears starting to form. “I wanted to forget.”

_I know,_ he wanted to say. _I know, and I’m sorry, and I wish I could’ve pulled you away faster, and I wish I could be there when you aren’t sleeping to hold you and tell you that it’s not your fault._

“Can’t you just leave me alone, please?” Allen’s voice sounded small, almost terrified, like a child’s. The professor let his head drop to his hands, his curly hair a disheveled mess.

Michael looked down at him, eyes softening, anger fading away. He let his muscles loosen—he hadn’t realized how tightly his jaw had been clenched. The last thing he wanted to do was leave him alone, but he didn’t know what else he could do.

“The first time I saw a man die up close, I couldn’t get it out of my head. No matter how hard I tried. Now I know you’re hurting about Fuller. But the hurt will pass, ‘cause it has to. And then one day, his death is just gonna be a very bad thing that you don’t think about anymore.” His voice had gone soft, low and raw, nearly a whisper. It felt like too much. The professor was looking at him intently. Michael nodded at him and gave a little knock on his desk before walking away.

 

The drive was quiet. No, strike that, not quiet—silent. And it was driving Michael insane. Allen hadn’t talked to him since their conversation, and he’d barely acknowledged him on the drive. His jokes fell flat, not that they were that good anyway. Eventually, he’d given up, hoping the professor would get some sleep. (He didn’t.) It wasn’t that late, the sun hadn’t even started setting yet, but he’d hoped to get a head start back home, and after that argument he had no intention of staying at the base any longer than they needed to.

Their room at the motel wasn’t as bad as he’d expected. The captain threw his leather jacket on one of the beds. “I’m gonna take a shower, Doc,” he said. He _was_ , but he was hoping for some response from the man so he knew he hadn’t gone mute.

He got a noncommittal grunt in response, and Allen walked by him then, setting his typewriter down on the desk in the far corner. Not exactly the response he was hoping for.

 

The shower didn’t heat up as fast as it could’ve, but Michael wasn’t complaining. A shower was a shower. After their argument and the awkward ride to the motel, he could use any kind of relaxation. He stood there for a while, letting the cold water fall over his muscles, head relaxing back to rest on the shower wall. After a while, he heard the mechanical sounds of the typewriter in the room outside. An annoyed groan left his lips. The man would never stop.

It was probably the longest shower he’d ever taken, but eventually he had to get out. He slipped on some clean clothes, drying his hair with a towel as he stepped into the bedroom. “Whatcha doin’, Doc?” He was sitting at the desk, just like he was at the base, fully enthralled in his work.

Silence. He walked over, behind where Allen was sitting at the desk, leaning over him to read the paper. At this, Allen looked up and met Michael’s eyes, almost shocked he was there. “It’s my report.” _Emphasis on the word “my.”_

“Our report, you mean.” He’d let it slip out, but it made a good point—they were partners, and it would do them both good to start acting like it. Allen ignored him. “It doesn’t matter anyway, Doc,” Michael said lightly, hoping for less resistance than he’d encountered earlier. “The case is closed.”

“This is my _personal_ report,” he said, angrily eyeing Michael, and turning back to his typewriter. “Since _you_ closed the case.” He was upset, just like Michael knew he would be.

Something snapped in the captain then. It would take anyone a little while to get used to having a partner. He’d worked without anyone by his side for a long time, and Dr. Hynek was an independently-minded professor who did things his own way, too. But they were partners now. Allen _was_ by his side. Michael could accept that. He’d done more than accept it. He’d thought, no, hoped, that they could become friends. _More than friends,_ a part of his mind added, but he quickly shut that off. Apparently Allen didn’t even remotely feel the same way.

“When will _you_ start to realize that we’re _partners_?” Michael blurted out. It came out as nearly a yell, though he was able to bring it down to a lower volume, like he had back at the base.

It took the professor by surprise, and he turned to look at the captain with a questioning look. Michael’s jaw had that familiar clench to it. “I do realize that,” Allen said, voice oddly calm.

“Oh, you do?” Michael’s voice sounded rough and sarcastic. “You and I must have different definitions of the word, then. I didn’t think partners were supposed to keep secrets from each other. I didn’t think they were meant to lie to each other. To split up. To go behind each other’s backs. I thought there was supposed to be some amount of trust here.” Noting the stunned look on the other man’s face, he added: “I guess I was wrong.”

Alarm bells were going off in his head. _I said too much, I said too much._ He ignored them. Pushed on. He was getting an answer out of the man if he had to yell all night to get one.

After a beat of silence, Allen’s voice shook him from his thoughts. “What do you want me to do, Captain?”

“Well first off, quit calling me ‘Captain’ and call me by my damn name.” He shook his head, frustrated. “And I think the rest is obvious,” he said, hoping he wouldn’t have to directly answer.

“Obvious?”

_Shit. I hate this whole conversation._ “You are the most frustrating person I have ever met,” he said, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Can’t you just act more like my partner, instead of…”

“Instead of what?” Allen sounded angry now, cutting him off.

“Instead of an enemy.” He emphasized the word, pure rage dripping from every syllable.

“You’re not my enemy, Captain.”

“Well you certainly act like I am!” he replied, angrily trying to maintain a sense of calm. The professor looked at him with an indescribable emotion, somewhere between shock and pain, at a loss for words. “I need some air.” He turned on his heels, slamming the door behind him.

 

Finally. He leaned up against the door outside for a moment, catching his breath. “God,” he breathed slowly. “What did I do?” He didn’t know what to think, and his mind was spinning. He needed a cigarette.

He spent an hour outside. It wasn’t quite the cold weather at home, but he could feel the temperature dropping as the sun began to set. He’d sat on a bench at the gas station down the road from the motel for a while, watching the sunset and taking long drags on his cigarette. He half hoped that Allen would show up, sit down next to him amicably. He could put his arm around the professor, watch the sunset, listen to Allen explain the stars, talk about God-knows-what, anything at all would be enough.

After a while, he slowly started walking back, dreading the future conversation.

 

As he opened the door to their motel room, the lump in his throat reminded him of the argument an hour before. It was too quiet.

“Hey, Doc,” he said, low and quiet, breaking the silence. When he spoke, it felt like gravel in his throat. He’d hated to admit that he was crying without tears, out on that bench. Swallowing down his emotions felt like second-nature, usually, but this was too much at once.

The captain hung his hat on the hook inside the door, tossing the jacket he’d brought with him back onto the bed. He kept his eyes trained away from where he knew the professor sat. _This is ridiculous. I’ve fought in a war and I can’t have an argument with my partner._ At the lack of response, he looked up at the desk in the far corner. Empty.

The typewriter sat there, but the man in front of it was gone. The metal swivel chair that usually sat at the desk was tipped over on the floor. Michael panicked. His brain went blank, heart pounding. _The car’s still here,_ his mind told him after a moment. He flipped the switch to military mode. _No forced entry,_ he realized, after inspecting the door. _Look for a note._ Nothing. There were crumpled papers left around the typewriter, and in a moment of curiousity, he uncrumpled one and began to read. Some of the pages were purely science, equations and numbers. “Captain Quinn and the Air Force want to close this case,” was written at the top of one, which was sitting untouched next to the typewriter, as if it was his final draft. “This witness is convinced that the Green Fireballs are not merely meteors, as has been previously suggested. As a scientist, it is my job to use all available resources to find the truth, and that is what I intend to do, with or without Captain Quinn.”

Michael’s heart sank.

He crumpled the paper in his fist and threw it back onto the desk, striding across the room, grabbing his jacket last-minute. _He can’t be far._ His eyes flitted across the parking lot, scanning for any sign of Allen. Their room was upstairs, so he took the steps two at a time down to the pavement. To say he was starting to get worried would be an understatement. He was getting that feeling in the pit of his stomach again. He’d felt it a few times before. It felt like taking a step off the roof of a building and out into thin air.

_I should ask at the office. Maybe they’ve seen him. Where would he go? Back to the test site? He doesn’t have clearance. If they find him there...oh, God. Should I call Mimi? Do I even dare to do that right now? No. I need to know something first. Allen would kill me...I’m going to kill Allen when I find him...Allen._ Allen.

Allen! He was sitting with his back against the side of the stairs, head resting on his knees. Michael let out all of the air in his lungs. “Doc! There you are.” He took a few steps towards the man, kneeling down at his side to look at him. “You scared me half to death,” he added, voice low and quiet.

There was no response from Allen at first, but eventually he looked up, eyes rimmed red. He looked... _scared?_ It was obvious he’d been crying, but the captain didn’t say anything.

“Hey, now,” he said, nearly whispering. He reached out to touch Allen’s shoulder, but he flinched away immediately.

The professor let his head drop to his hands, his curly hair a disheveled mess. “Please just leave me alone,” he got out, but it sounded more like a whimper than actual English words.

“No.” It came out stern—more stern than he’d intended, but it at least got the attention of the man, who turned to look at him, running fingers through his hair to press it down into something presentable. A jumble of emotions had planted itself on Allen’s face. “I can say it too, Doc,” Michael said, shooting him an affectionate smile.

Michael pulled Allen away from the wall and draped his jacket around his shoulders. The man was shivering, and wouldn’t meet his eyes. “Let’s go inside,” he said gently. Slowly, he guided him up the stairs, Allen leaning into him (which he liked more than he’d care to admit) the whole way.

He finagled his way into the room, balancing Allen as he opened the door. The man seemed numb to everything, and his eyes were blank.

“It’s okay now,” he said uncertainly. He really _didn’t_ know if it was okay. Was Allen crying over _him?_ That certainly didn’t make sense, Allen was the one who didn’t seem to have an emotional attachment to their partnership. It couldn’t be that.

In a flash, Allen jumped away from him, trying in vain to collect his things, struggling against the grip Michael had on him.. “I want to leave,” he said quickly, angrily. Pausing for a moment to look at the Captain, he said, “I want to leave. Now.”

Michael reached out to stop him. “Just hang on a second-”

“No!” His voice was no longer quiet and small, and it seemed to silence everything, leaving only the ticking of the clock on the wall. “I want to leave.”

“Alright,” Michael said slowly, softly, trying not to upset the man more than he already was. “We’ll go.” He reached down and took the briefcase that Allen was clutching, picking up his own jacket from where it’d fallen on the floor.

 

Allen was in the car before Michael got there. He’d seemingly wiped his tears and attempted to compose himself, but it was obvious to anyone that something was wrong. He rested his head on the window of the car as Michael drove.

“You okay, Doc?” he asked, fighting a losing battle between glancing at the professor or focusing on the road.

“I’m fine,” the other side of the car said. It didn’t sound like Allen—it was certainly an _Allen_ response—but this voice sounded garbled and like he was choking back tears.

Michael pulled to the side of the road and stopped the car, getting a look from Allen in response, which he ignored.

“I need a cigarette.” He pushed open the car door, watching as Allen mimicked his movements. After a second, they were leaning against the car, and Michael was arguing with his lighter, as usual.

“What happened back there wasn’t nothing,” he said, eventually getting it to light his cigarette.

“I’m okay now,” was the reply.

“Okay, that’s a lie.” He smiled a bit at the professor. The moonlight reflected off of Allen’s face, and Michael couldn’t help but soften his eyes at him. He took a drag of his cigarette, carefully making sure he didn’t blow smoke in the other man’s face. “And even if it was true, it doesn’t excuse what happened.”

Allen turned to look at him. “It’s Fuller,” he said, and Michael felt relieved, though it was really only confirming something he already knew. “I can’t get him out of my head.” He seemed to shrink into himself, then.

“Doc,” he started, reaching over to lay a hand on the man’s arm reassuringly. “We’ve talked about this. You know what happened wasn’t your fault.”

“I’m sick of hearing that,” he said, flinching away. His voice was raw. “I set him off. If I just hadn’t-”

“Allen.” It was the first time he’d called the man by first name outside of his own head, and it made the professor stop and look at him. “Allen.” He caught the man’s hand in his own, rubbing circles to try to calm him down. _Oh my God. Oh my God. I’m holding Allen Hynek’s hand._ Alarm bells started ringing, again, and he ignored them. “You didn’t do anything wrong. Believe me.” He took another drag from his cigarette, and their hands fell apart. _I want to hold his hand and never let go. God, what’s gotten into me?_

“I should’ve been gentler,” Allen replied, quietly this time, a slight blush spreading across his cheeks.

“Gentler? You?” Michael smiled at him. _He’s cute if he thinks he can be gentler than he already is. He’s cute regardless, but…_ “Allen, I don’t think you could get any more gentle.”

There was a silence then. “You really think that?” His voice was pained, almost as if he didn’t believe it.

“Allen Hynek.” He could see the tears starting to rise again in Allen’s eyes, as they reflected in the moonlight. He dropped the cigarette and rubbed his shoe over it to put it out—a waste of a cigarette, but that was okay. In one motion he pulled Allen’s face towards his own until they were forehead-to-forehead, breathing each other’s air. The motion made Allen’s tears fall down onto Michael’s cheeks, but he ignored them and held his face tightly against the professor’s. “You are the best man I’ve ever met, and I mean that.” _And I’m falling in love with you. I mean that, too._ “You have more patience than I’ll ever have. More compassion. Fuller’s death wasn’t your fault, and I wish I could convince you of that, because it’s the truth. You’re always fighting to find the truth—well, here it is: It could’ve been anyone there that day. Anyone. And they’d probably blame themselves, too, just like you are, but I can see your heart breaking every single day over something that was completely out of your control.” _I want to kiss him. I want his lips on mine. But I shouldn’t._ “And Mimi is the luckiest woman in the world to have a husband like you.” _She really is, and I wish I could have him, but I can’t._

It was quiet, except for Allen trying his hardest not to cry. After a moment, Michael pulled him into a proper hug, albeit a slightly awkward one. His head fit perfectly on Michael’s shoulder. “Shh, it’s okay,” he kept saying, over and over again, rubbing little circles on the man’s back with one hand and stroking his hair with the other. “It’s okay now.” They stood like that for a while, for too long, probably, but Michael could feel Allen relaxing in his arms, his heartbeat speeding up at first, skipping a beat, and then slowing down. And he couldn’t help but smile lightly at that. _I made Allen Hynek’s heart skip a beat._

“I see him, Captain.” ‘ _Captain.’ Call me Michael, dammit._

“What?” He pried Allen from him, holding his face a few inches from his own, looking at him, confused, concerned.

“Fuller. I see him, sometimes.”

“You...you _see_ him?”

“It’s like he’s haunting me. It makes it so I can’t sleep. He shows up at the foot of my bed, behind me in the mirror, and he’s there and it’s all I can think about, if we could’ve done something, if I could have stopped him, if he blames-”

“Doc.” Tear stains littered his cheeks. “When was the last time you had a full night of sleep?”

Allen blinked at him. The captain gently wiped the tears away, noting the deep dark circles under the professor’s eyes that he’d previously tried to ignore. “I don’t remember,” he said.

 

The drive back home was a comfortable quiet. Before, the silence had bothered Michael, he’d always try to fill it with some kind of conversation, he’d try to crack Allen’s shell with jokes or questions about science, or he’d fiddle with the radio, going through every station before giving up and sighing loudly.

It was a different kind of quiet this time. Allen had put his head on the window again, but it was clear he wasn’t getting any sleep that way. The captain had pulled the man over to his side, letting him rest his head on him for the remainder of the ride. A contented sigh escaped the professor, and he- _oh my God, did he just_  nuzzle _me?_

“You comfortable, there, Doc?” he asked, glancing down. Allen had his eyes closed.

“Mmm.”

Michael chuckled in response, trying not to break out into a grin. The man was still hurting, he remembered, and even if it felt nice to have him like this, Michael couldn’t get used to it. He knew he couldn’t.

 

* * *

 

It had only been a week, and Michael was going insane. He was always waiting on the edge of his seat for a phone call, for any new case. His hand itched to pick up the phone and dial Allen’s office number, just so he could hear his voice, just so he could talk to him, to hear that smile behind his words when Michael made a bad joke. _This is getting out of hand,_ Michael’s thoughts interrupted him. “I’d say so,” he grumbled under his breath.

“Something wrong, Captain?” Michael hadn’t even heard the door open, but the maintenance man was standing in the middle of the room looking at him like he was crazy.

“No, everything’s fine,” he replied, trying and failing to regain focus on the mile-high stack of paperwork on his desk. “I think I’m going to head home, it’s getting late.” He hated going home on case-free nights. It meant hours of laying in bed, awake or asleep, thinking about Allen, or dreaming about him. The thoughts would ambush him when he was thinking about something else, and he’d get a flutter in the base of his stomach. _I’m a goddamned schoolgirl._

This night was easier than most. He drank by the television, not enough to get him drunk, but enough to make him feel warm and tired, a little buzzed, like he had that night in the car with Allen. He was already thinking about sleep by the time he made it to his bed, his eyes closed by the time his head hit the pillow.

The phone rang.

~~~

Allen was pacing. Probably not a good idea, as Mimi and Joel were asleep—it was after midnight, but he wasn’t thinking about that at the time. Right now, the kitchen was the only place for him that was safe. Mimi was safe, of course, as was Joel, but he wasn’t. Not in his bedroom, not in Joel’s bedroom, not even in his office, where he’d once felt safe.

Allen was pacing. Standing still meant that Fuller would pop up in his line of sight. Even now, sometimes in his peripheral vision, the lieutenant would be behind him, standing behind his shoulder, always shouting, _always shouting,_ and God, all he wanted was some peace and quiet.

He’d tried the usual methods of calming down. A glass of water? Tried that. Dropped it the instant he caught a glimpse of Fuller in the reflection of the faucet. The glass had shattered, Mimi had been upset. He tried distracting himself with work, but after a few accidental flips of the pages in his notebook to _that_ symbol, he found himself reliving the moments before the lieutenant’s death, envisioning the man standing before him as he burned to death.

He could’ve stopped him. He should’ve. A man that unhinged, Allen should’ve been more careful. He should’ve helped him, protected him from his own mind, instead of going blindly after the information he wanted. It made him a monster. Even if it was Fuller who’d dropped the lighter, Allen was the one that sparked it.

And now Fuller wanted revenge. “My head gets scrambled sometimes,” he’d said. If Allen had just not jumped to asking questions, maybe the boy would still be alive. So he couldn’t exactly blame him on that front. Fuller was scared and his mind was playing tricks. But Allen hadn’t felt safe in so long. He thought back; _When was the last time I felt safe?_

Allen picked up the phone and dialed.

~~~

Michael’s eyes shot open, and he blinked once, waking up, adrenaline rushing, groping wildly for the telephone.

“Hello?”

“Michael?”

“Allen?” The professor’s voice sounded strained. He’d know the tone of that voice anywhere. Fear. “Allen, what’s wrong? It’s…” he paused, looking at his bedside clock. “It’s nearly one in the morning.”

“Michael, I-” He cut himself off with a catch of breath, and the captain sat up, back straight, hand clutching the receiver.

“Allen,” he said again, not really a question or a statement. There was silence on the other line, except for breathing. “Allen.” He pushed his luck, maybe it was the buzz of the alcohol, lack of sleep, or something else, “ _Baby_ ,” he breathed, “what’s wrong?”

“I,” Allen started, and Michael was worried that the pet name was too much, though it did make Allen reply. “I can’t sleep, and he’s here, and I’m...scared,” he finished quietly.

Michael’s chest tightened, jaw locking into its familiar tension. “ _Who_ is there?” he asked quickly, voice gruff and low, mind spinning.

“Fuller.”

“Doc,” he breathed out. “Where are you right now?”

“Standing in my kitchen,” was the reply.

Michael was silent then. He didn’t know how to help the man, but he wished he could hold him close and make him feel alright again, like he had back in the car the last time they’d been together.

“I don’t feel safe,” Allen said, after a moment, and Michael’s heart just about stopped. “I want to be with you. I feel safe with you. I-”

“Doc,” Michael stopped him. “Do you...want to sleep with me?” _For once, I’m glad he’s not here, to see my cheeks turning as red as a tomato._

“Could I?”

Michael smiled. “You could. I’ll come get you. I’d be there before you even-” The phone was already back on the hook, and Michael could hear the dial tone. “Allen? Allen!” _Goddammit, he’s going to kill himself driving here._

 

Michael didn’t feel tired in the slightest. After that phone call, his mind was split down the middle. One side was worried sick about Allen driving in his state, the other overwhelmed with imagining what it would be like to have Allen here with him, warm and cozy, feeling his heartbeat against his own, tangled up in the sheets of his bed. The thoughts stirred a tingling feeling in the base of his stomach again, a feeling he was all too familiar with when he thought of Allen.

When the doorbell rang, he sprang up and threw open the door to reveal a very tired-looking Allen. “Come here,” he practically ordered the man, who just stepped forward into Michael’s arms. “You’re safe now,” he said, gripping the man as tightly as he could, swaying. “I’ve got you.”

It was cold outside, but Michael didn’t care.

“He’s everywhere,” Allen replied. Michael furrowed his brow.

“Come on, let’s get you to bed.”

 

Michael didn’t know what to do, then. He was standing next to the bed, standing over Allen. He knew Allen wanted comfort. _So do I._ But he didn’t want to take advantage of the man, especially considering Mimi. _We’re just sleeping, nothing else, calm down._

Allen looked up at him sleepily as he pulled the sheets up over the man. “You’re staying with me, right?” the man asked, and Michael’s cheeks flushed.

“If you want me to,” he replied slowly. Allen got as close to a pout as he could.

“Only if you want to,” the Doc answered, but it was obvious that he wanted the captain to stay with him. _Typical Allen._

He was quiet, and Michael suspected that his silence further upset the professor. After a breath, Michael looked him in the eyes. “I do,” he said, catching Allen’s hand that was loosely dangling over the side of the bed, rubbing his thumb over Allen’s knuckles. Hesitatingly, he added, “want to. I do.”

“Okay,” Allen said, a smile twinkling at him from the bed.

“Okay.” Michael was uncomfortably aware of his body. He’d unbuttoned the shirt he’d been wearing a while before, and shrugged it off now, leaving him in just his undershirt and boxers. Awkwardly, he let go of Allen’s hand, stepping to the other side of the bed. _This is normal. People do this all the time. And we’re friends._

Climbing into the bed with the professor, Michael felt himself itching to move closer, trying to tell himself it was simply because he was cold. _Yeah right. I want to hold him._ But Allen had shifted away then, rolling onto his side to face the bathroom door, head near the telephone. “Good night, Doc,” he whispered quietly, hearing no response.

But he could hear the man’s steady breathing, and he knew he’d fallen asleep the moment Michael got into the bed. That put a feeling of affection in his chest and warmed his cheeks. _He feels safe with me._ Michael stared at the ceiling for a while, glancing intermittently at the sleeping figure to his left. _I want you to feel safe. I’m falling in love with you and if anything happened to you I don’t think I could live anymore. I’ve never felt like this before._ “I wish you knew,” he said aloud, voice crackly from lack of use.

“Mm?”

Michael just about jumped out of his skin. _Oh God, he heard me, oh God. Shit. I didn’t mean to say that._ The alarm bells in his head were freaking out, blaring wildly. “You’re awake,” he said, _stupidly._

“Well, you woke me up.” The professor turned and looked over his shoulder at the captain, who just looked at him, trying to keep his face from showing any specific emotion. “Light sleeper, lately,” he said, rolling onto his back, half propped up. Michael’s skin tingled at the contact of Allen’s arm against his, and he involuntary leaned into it. After a moment, he added, “What did you say?”

“Oh, nothing,” Michael replied. “Just thinking out loud.”

Allen turned onto his right side, resting his head on his arm, looking at the captain with sleepy eyes. _So...beautiful._ “Thinking about what?”

“You,” the word stumbled out of his mouth without his prior permission. _Is there any supervision in here, at all?_

“Really?” the professor asked, predictably, a smile playing on his lips. “What about me?”

“All of this, this Fuller stuff,” he said. Allen’s smile faded. _Nice save, idiot._ Immediately, he started throwing fleeting glances around the room, fear solidifying his expression and widening his eyes.

“Doc,” he said, almost in a warning tone, reaching out and touching the man’s arm. “You’re alright. He’s...he can’t hurt you.”

Resigned, Allen just nodded at him, the kind of nod that Michael knew by now was saying that the professor didn’t really believe him. He closed his eyes then, obviously trying to fall back to sleep, and Michael hoped Allen couldn’t feel his eyes studying him.

On cases, he’d always avoid letting his eyes linger over the professor for longer than necessary. With touches, even, he had to restrain himself. Now, though, it seemed that the boundaries between them were starting to fall. He let himself watch the man now, under the security of the dark bedroom. He was peacefully sleeping now, just a bit closer than he’d been before.

Slowly he let himself drift away, comforted by their entangled breathing. He felt more relaxed than he’d ever felt.

 

His eyes snapped open. It was still dark in the room. _Why am I awake?_ was his first thought, quickly followed with _Where’s Allen?_ Blinking, he sat up. Allen was sitting up in bed, breathing hard, nearly a whimper. _So that’s why I’m awake._

“Allen, Allen,” he said, springing up to pull the man towards him. “Shh, it’s okay, it’s okay.”

Allen was struggling against him, argumentatively, like he was going to get up and run away. Michael tightened his grip around the professor’s midsection.

“Stop fighting me,” Michael said, bringing out his commanding voice. After a second, Allen gave up, and Michael pulled him towards his chest. He could feel his heartbeat against his own, now, and it was racing. “You’re okay,” he said again, rubbing comfortingly up and down his back. Allen’s breathing started to slow down. “Did you have a nightmare?”

“I know he’s not real,” Allen said, as if he thought Michael saw him as being silly. “But when I woke up, he was here, and he’s always here, and-”

“Baby.” Michael didn’t hold back with the name, now. Allen’s head snapped up as if it was the first time he’d heard it, but he didn’t say anything. Blue eyes met brown, and the beginnings of a smile were appearing on both of their faces. “What happened back there, it wasn’t your fault. Fuller wanted to die.” Allen cringed at that, but Michael kept going. “He would’ve done something else, if not that. He would’ve done it even if we hadn’t been there. And if he didn’t, he would’ve been found by the authorities.”

“He told me that his mind was scrambled a lot,” Allen replied. “If he’d been in his right mind, maybe he wouldn’t have-”

“Darling, we can play this game all night.” Michael paused, stopped rubbing Allen’s back, and looked down at him.

“I just want him to-” Allen started. “I wish I could’ve stopped him.”

“We did the best we could do,” Michael said. “There was no way of knowing he’d do that.”

Allen was quiet. He cuddled close to the captain, shifting so he was against him, head resting on his chest. _Lord, have mercy._ “You’re right,” he replied. When the captain glanced down again, his eyes were closed, and he was leaning against him, content, and warm, and _safe._ His eyes crinkled up, smiling.

"Try to get some sleep, now," he whispered.

Michael stayed awake for a while. The hand that was wrapped around the professor absentmindedly started stroking his back again. He wanted more, and it was probably obvious to Allen that he did. But for the past months, he’d woken up each day expecting to see Allen’s face.

“Maybe it’s enough to just be where we are,” he said out loud, pulling the other man closer, leaving a small kiss on his forehead and letting his own eyes slip closed.

 

**Author's Note:**

> If you want to find me elsewhere, my tumblr is dropsofandromeda, and my side-blog specifically for pbb and fan stuff is specksofandromeda


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